The Red Fifty Devil
by Italian Spades
Summary: Arthur hated the ideal of the underworld, and anything that came with it! So, why was he so drawn to this new demon he's held hostage and now calls "Red Fifty"? (UsUk)


In Heaven and Hell, there are constant fights that flow between the angels and the demons. Some of these fights were just the effects of careless mistakes repeated by the demons, and some were the results of tendencies of rude angels, but nonetheless, they always turnt into something bigger than they needed to be. Arrows would be slung across angelic boundaries, and the angels would have no other instinct than to lash out at the surly demons with all their best weapons. Crude words, empty threats, and too-soon regretted hatred flung back and forth and echoed through the spacious walls of the two realms, and in between these consecutive wars lay the pushed and pulled Earth: the sacred ground between the two constantly-fighting ends of a religion where a truce was held at its firmest and was never broken .

The truce was between the angels and the demons, and was like a scripture that both had to follow, whether they pledged their lives to hands of the Devil or promised their eternity to the narrow rules of God. Both had to follow what was written in stone: Earth was not to be touched. And for the most part, both parties obeyed without another word. It was just that simple. Or at least, it used to be. Something changed that for the better, and the story is quite a tale.

Arthur Kirkland has been an angel for years. He always followed the rules, stayed on his territory, and never looked a demon in the eyes. Had he looked a demon in the eyes earlier, he may have seen something that most others didn't. But he averted his gaze when the usual attackings occurred, and, as always, isolated himself to his usual white room of blissful silence and purity. He knew he couldn't keep himself locked up forever, but he wished that fate to come later rather than sooner. Unfortunately, as time past, one day fell upon him with one of his greatest fears in hand.

On the fifth of May, Arthur could be found cursing to himself wildly as he withdrew his arrows and weapons from his back pouche and strung them to the best of his ability. Of course, the angels had struck up war again with the demons, and of course the other angels had picked him of all people to fight against the horned beasts. Out of all the angels in his district, they had picked Arthur, the scrawny, fragile angel with no taste in fighting or anything as dark as the underworld; but he had no other choice.

So, as the bright rays of white sun warmed his wings gently, he pulled back roughly at the arrow and then let the leather cleanly strike his fingertips before it hit it's designated target with a faint _pang_ : one demon down, the rest of Hell's sinful servants to go. He sighed to himself before ducking behind the fluffy cloud that was protecting him from the nostrils of any demon. All angels knew that once the demons crossed the angel territories (and vice versa) they had lost their ability to see. So, the demons used their noses to pick out the scent that they knew best: fear. And, oh, how the angels reeked of it.

Despite the scent radiating off of him ten times more than it had any other angel, Arthur had thought himself safe behind the promising hug of the clouds puffy, protective barrier. But all hope had fled him the moment he caught sight of a brilliantly bright stream of red and black fading into the fog of Heaven's mist. He heard vague noises behind the cloud of something sniffing the air strongly, and then giving up, seemingly lost. Then, the sound of a puff of air and a heavy sigh being let out reached his ears, and he assumed the demon- or at least, that was he assumed was hunting him down- could not smell. Though this was only an observation- one that he could not make with his eyes but rather his ears and last hopes- he leapt from his spot daringly and readied his bow and arrow for shooting. The sight he was greeted with, however, cause him to slowly lower his arrow, and then himself to the ground.

There, on the steamy white floors of Heaven, was a demon, sprawled out and writhing for freedom from some sort of pain that seemed to be stabbing at him quite hard. Arthur felt he should help the poor creature, but not without a quick look-over first. The demon had pitch black hair and curled, amber-brown horns, were a few diamonds were placed haphazardly to give it a unique shine. Though the demon's eyes were closed, Arthur could spot a hint of wine-red underneath the tightly shut eyelids, and this intrigued him to step closer. The demon was in pretty good shape, and dressed lazily in a black and white bomber jacket with the number "50" crossed out in red on the back, and a pair of skintight, black jeans; all of the above was accessorised with a set of black, dress shoes, large, boisterous black wings, and a long, pointed tail that was currently slashing back and forth against the hardness of the ground. Arthur's breath hitched; he had never seen a demon this close before. He couldn't tell if it was a breathtaking view or a sight to cower away from, but something buried deep within him caused him to feel more enthralled with each and every step closer. And now, he had no clue in his mind on what to do.

The debate was between trapping him and taking him to Heaven's most suited dungeons for demons, or to help him with whatever pain he was experiencing, and do what his heart was telling him what was right. He fought with himself inwardly, even though he had no ideal how to do either of those things. Most would think at a time like this, an angel would give in to its goodwill and reflect off the kindness the Heaven's had taught, but those people knew Heaven much too differently than Arthur had.

Despite what most people would have concluded about Heaven, Arthur was never taught to always do the right thing. No, there was none of this "be true to yourself' or "treat others the way you want to be treated" stuff where Arthur was concerned. It was always something more along the lines of "whatever it takes to take them down", and "mercy is only a weakness, never a strength", and for the most part, Arthur had succumbed to this so called "rational" reasonings because, hey, it's Hell's most powerful creatures we're talking about here. But that day had proven something a tad bit new to his heart and his mind, though his acceptance of it was very, very slow; but it had to start somewhere.

That somewhere was his final decision. The poor creature can hardly stand, he thought to himself as he inched closer slowly and began to wrap his arms around his torso. Jollsting the demon upwards with a large, forceful tug, Arthur gazed behind himself cautiously, looked from right to left in concern, and began easing the creature in his arms back to his little, white room of purity, dragging his feet against the white, chalky sidewalk all the while. Arthur cringed inwardly as the loud sound of rubber boots scratching carelessly against pasty cement filled the air, and in his heart, he began to feel a pulsing fear of being caught taking home one of Hell's greatest weapons. He could feel his heartbeat quicken, the adrenaline push itself through his body, and he felt the bullet of regret hit him fast and hard. Oh, the consequences of caring for a demon...All that blood, all that fire, all that pain and torture. Heaven may have seemed all love and forgiveness from a bird's eye view, but when you were standing in it, the reality was vital. So, what would Arthur do? The right thing, of course!

Or he'd just panic and drop the body heavily on the ground by quickly retracting his hands in remorse. Arthur took note that in his arms, the demon seemed to have no struggle, no paine, and as he hit the ground, his breathing plateaued and grew to a normal pattern, and his eyes popped wide open, staring directly into the direction of none other than Arthur.

This, of course, had Arthur's panic levels rising rapidly. Oh, no, what has he done? Not only has he awoken the ferocious beast, but also somehow managed to subdue his paine and give him full access to kill Arthur in whatever way he valued. _Way to go, Arthur, you really screwed up now._

His train of thought was interrupted by movement of limbs being spotted in the corner of his eye. The demon was rising. Looking over, he was met with a foggy view of the man- if you could call him that- standing in front of him, shamelessly rubbing the tired out of his eyes. Arthur had to think on his feet. _What to do? What to do?_

The clouds cleared slowly and they revealed the devil on the other side, standing tall and proud, eyes stained wine-red and looking directly into Arthur's. And at that moment, Arthur had felt something he had never felt before, something twisting in his stomach, something poking at his heart. The feeling only grew stronger as the creature spoke his first words to Arthur, though he said them as if they were his first words ever:

"I missed you."


End file.
